The first two FR albums were important to me. The third one was good. The fourth one passed me by. I can’t say why this happened. It was probably my fault. Whatever the reasons, I find myself listening to this solo album hoping that something special happens again. I’m giving it my full attention, putting the effort in on my side.

Owl John is strange in that it is both closer to and further away from what I consider the FR golden years (I mean this terms of sound, not quality). Opening track ‘Cold Creeps’ sounds like it could fit in quite nicely on Sing the Greys. ‘Songs About Roses’ is pretty close to something that might have made Midnight Organ Fight, or is at least inspired by that period in Hutchinson’s career. I consider ‘Los Angeles, Be Kind’ more like a Winter of Mixed Drinks track, while ‘Stupid Boy’ is the essence of FR’s self-deprecating style. There are deviations, with ‘Two’ featuring a Gaelic (?) spoken word conclusion that brings to mind Aidan Moffat, and ‘Hate Music’ which sounds like FR doing a great Manchester Orchestra impression.

[THE MOMENT THE REVIEWER CHANGES DIRECTION]

I’ve realised there is something strange at work here. I’m talking about old albums. This is unfair to Hutchinson and any other artist trying to top previous albums. I don’t want to do it. I consciously tried to stop myself from doing it.

I think it’s all to do with Hutchinson’s personal style of song writing. It’s ironic that listeners connect with his songs because his lyrics are so intimate, so honestly him, but it is true. He shows us his innards and we see ourselves. It’s no exaggeration to say that The Midnight Organ Fight was part of my life for a fair period of time. When something is that important to you, it’s natural to look for more, to expect more. But consider it from Hutchinson’s point of view. Those songs were his and he had to hand them over and repeat them for years to crowds of people who had taken them. And now he tries to do something new all the fucking bloggers are talking about are how each song might fit on the old FR records.

[THE REAL REVIEW]

So, Owl John. Owl John is an album that mixes up sad self-deprecation with confusion and love and regret. It tells of people far away from home making new homes. It speaks of vast stretches of introspection dotted with those incandescent moments of feeling that make it all worth while. Hutchinson uses his supreme talent for song writing to conjure a person before us, a person who cries and bleeds and yells with joy just like any other person. That’s all you need so know.

You can buy the album from the Owl John webpage.

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